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CRADLE - SONGS 



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A COMPILATION 


O F 


CRADLE-SONGS 


Mitt) an appreciation 


BY 

Josephine Mildred Blanch 

v\ 


SAN FRANCISCO 


THE MURDOCK PRESS 

























To my Mother 


' \ 




















* 




CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Cradle- Songs : An Appreciation 9 

The Bugles of Dreamland 13 

“Swiftly the dews of the gloam- 
ing,” etc. Fiona Macleod 

Ninna-Nanne of the Virgin 15 

“The Virgin thus to Jesus did sing,” etc. 

Lullaby 20 

“Lennavan-mo,” etc. Fiona Macleod 

Swedish Cradle- Song 22 

“Light and rosy be thy slumbers,” etc. 

Sicilian Ninna-Nanne 23 

“Lovely, lovely, is my son,” etc. 

Cradle- Song 24 

“The Wind came flying through 

my chamber,” etc. Carmen Sylva 

Hindostan Cradle- Song 26 

“Hear the bulbul on the spray,” etc. Mary Fairweather 

Hungarian Lullaby 2 7 

“Sleep! I would thy cradle were of roses,” etc. 

Corsican Ninna-Nanne 28 

“Hush-a-by, my darling boy,” etc. . 4 

Cradle-Song of the Fisherman’s Wife 30 

“Swung in the hollows of the 

deep,” etc. Ella Higginson 

Arabian Cradle- Song 3 2 

“Sleep, my eye, sleep,” etc. 


5 


CONTENTS 




Old Gaelic Lullaby 

“Hush! the waves are rolling in,” etc. 

Lullaby of the Madonna 

“Sleep, oh sleep, dear baby mine,” etc. 

Hushing Song 

“Eily, Eily, my bonnie wee lass,” etc. Fiona Macleod 

Hungarian Cradle-Song 

“Cry not, beloved,” etc. Mary Fairweather 

Slumber-Song 

“The days are cold,” etc. Dorothy Wordsworth 

Cradle-Hymn 

“Away in a manger,” etc. Luther 

Martial Cradle- Song 

“Oh! hush thee, my babie,” etc. Scott 

Italian Ninna-Nanne 

“Lullaby, child of the Madonna,” etc. 

Indian Lullaby 

• “Rest, little sleeper,” etc. Walter Leahy 

Lullaby 

“Sweet and low,” etc. Tennyson 

Scotch Cradle-Song 

“Auld Daddy Darkness creeps frae 

his hole,” etc. James Ferguson 

Lullaby 

“Sleep, my baby, for the Shadows,” 

etc. Morgan Shepard 

American Lullaby 

“Rock-a-by, baby, upon the tree- 

top,” etc. Burdette 

Christmas Lullaby 

“Sleep, baby, sleep,” etc. J. A. Symonds 


33 

34 

36 

37 

38 

39 

40 

4i 

42 

43 

44 

46 

48 

49 


6 


CONTENTS 


Jewish Lullaby 50 

“My harp is on the,willow-tree,” etc. Eugene Field 

Venetian Ninna-Nanne 52 

“Sleep, a ni-na-na, a nice long sleep,” etc. 

German Cradle-Song 53 

“Sleep, baby, sleep! thy father’s watching the 
sheep,” etc. 

Slumber-Song 54 

“Rock-a-by, lullaby, bees in the 

clover,” etc. /. G. Holland 

The Virgin’s Cradle-Hymn 55 

“Sleep, sweet babe,” etc. Coleridge 

Saint Bride’s Lullaby 56 

“O Baby Christ, so dear to me,” etc. Fiona Macleod 

Indian Slumber-Song 58 

“Sleep, little papoose,” etc. Helen Hyde 

Negro Lullaby 59 

“De ole Mosa he am trabeling,” etc. 

Russian Cradle-Song 60 

“Rest thee, jewel,” etc. Mary Fairweather 

English Cradle-Song 61 

“Hush, my babe,” etc. Watts 

Madonna and Child 62 

“Little son,” etc. Alice A. Sewell 


7 


In the compilation of this volume thanks are due 
Harper & Bros., London. 

Gentleman’s Magazine, London. 

E. C. Vansittart, Rome, Italy. 

The Living Age Co., Boston. 

The Journal of American Folk-Lore. 

Henry T. Coates & Co., Philadelphia. 
McClure, Phillips & Co., New York. 

Mary Fairweather, San Francisco. 

Thomas B. Mosher, Portland, Maine. 
Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York. 


CRADLE-SONGS 


AN APPRECIATION 

How memory comes to us when a mother’s 
eyes seemed our blue all-satisfying Heaven, 
and the crooning of her soft sweet voice first 
linked our baby-soul, still warm from the 
parting kiss which the angels gave, to a new 
mysterious world of music — a world in which 
the Infinite is revealed to mortals, a promise, 
as it were, of a fuller Sweetness and more 
perfect Harmonies! We have heard many 
songs since then; but have we ever listened 
with such all-absorbing rapture, as when 
through the medium of a mother’s voice we 
heard our first sweet cradle-songs? 

Cradle-songs are the universal language of 
mothers, for when the tired day is sinking 
to its rest and the stars come out, “when 
drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds,” a 
w r orld of mothers are soothing into slumber- 
land with song the world of babyhood. 
Throughout the length and breadth of all 
lands, from lowly cottage and stately man- 
sion, at this purple twilight hour, is heard 


9 


AN APPRECIATION 


the music of mothers’ voices, for “the whole 
world vibrates to that supreme touch of 
Nature, Mother-love.” Think what a host of 
white-robed listeners! Did ever music float 
o’er so pure or responsive an audience or one 
so tenderly forgiving? Did ever waves of 
harmony thrill or vibrate so delicate an in- 
strument as a baby’s heart? We can but liken 
this audience to a band of white starry-eyed 
daisies, whose music lessons have been Na- 
ture’s own teaching — the sighing of the winds 
among their snowy petals — so at home seem 
they in music-land, so readily does it attune 
itself to melody. 

Beautiful childhood! beautiful cradle- 
songs! — how inseparable are the two! For 
ever must mother-love have expressed itself 
in harmonious cadences. We can but imagine 
the first low sweet cradle-song sung by that 
first mother, in the loneliness and stillness of 
a new earth and the deepening shadows of 
the night ; what mystery and wonder and love 
must have thrilled her voice as she hushed into 
slumber the first offspring of the human race ! 
Could there ever again be a lullaby of such 
deep pathos or such tender joy? 

All Nature has her cradle-songs! When 
the day is young, the lark soars high and sings 


io 


AN APPRECIATION 


out its heart to the new May morn; when the 
night is young, in the pale white moonlight, 
the nightingale’s glorious voice adds to the 
witchery around us; when the year is young, 
from sky, brook, tree, bursts upon us color, 
light, and sound — a joyous cradle-song for 
the shy sweet Spring ! But would you know 
the grandest of Nature’s cradle-songs? ’Twas 
sung in the long ago, in peaceful star-lit Beth- 
lehem, where in the rudest of huts, in the most 
uncarved of cradles the Christ Child lay, 
while from the voices of angelic hosts floated 
down to earth her sublimest cradle-song. To 
its echoes, reaching down through the centu- 
ries, have both poet and musician attuned 
their instruments. 

Josephine Mildred Blanch. 


ii 











THE BUGLES OF DREAMLAND 


Swiftly the dews of the gloaming are 
falling ; 

Faintly the bugles of Dreamland are call- 
ing. 

O hearken, my darling, the elf-flutes are 
blowing, 

The shining-eyed folk from the hillside are 
flowing, 

I’ the moonshine the wild-apple blossoms 
are snowing, 

And louder and louder where the white 
dews are falling 

The far-away bugles of Dreamland are 
calling. 

O what are the bugles of Dreamland call- 
ing 

There where the dew T s of the gloaming are 
falling? 

Come away from the weary old world of 
tears, 

Come away, come away to where one never 
hears 


i3 


THE BUGLES OF DREA?vlLAND 


The slow weary drip of the slow weary 
years, 

But peace and deep rest till the white dews 
are falling, 

And the blithe bugle-laughters through 
Dreamland are calling. 

Then bugle for us, where the cool dews 
are falling, 

O bugle for us, wild elf-flutes now call- 
ing— 

For Heart’s-love and I are too weary to 
wait 

For the dim, drowsy whisper that cometh 
too late, 

The dim, muffled whisper of blind empty 
fate — 

O the world ’s well lost now the dream- 
dews are falling, 

And the bugles of Dreamland about us are 
calling. 

Fiona Macleod. 


14 


NINNA-NANNE OF THE VIRGIN 


The Virgin thus to Jesus did sing, 

When cradled she soothed him to rest: 
Sleep, my son, sleep, 

Sleep, Jesu, my son, 

Sleep, Jesu, my son! 

How perfect thy form ! 

How sweet is thy mouth! 

How golden thy hair! 

How beauteous thy face! 

My heart-beats are thine, 

Sleep, oh, sleep soon! 

Son, still so youthful and fair, 
Light of my heart! 

Thou seemest too chill. 

Come hug tighter thy Mother, 
Her heart is so warm ; 

Sleep, my son, sleep! 

When shepherds came seeking 
Their gifts to display, 

They offered thee all 
With true love and devotion; 
Sleep, ever sleep sweetly, 

Jesu, my son ! 


15 


NINNA-NANNE OF THE VIRGIN 

To flesh thou dost turn, 

In pure love for sinners; 

Yet man, ungrateful and vile, 

His sins doth ignore. 

With mockery bold and perverse, 
Ungrateful remains. 

But, son of my love, heed it not ! 
Graceless man no tears may afford, 
Thy Mother’s fond pity doth mark 
Thy deep, true abasement on earth; 
She weeps when others no cause 
can perceive. 

Sleep, calmly sleep ! 

Son, beloved and revered, 

Sleep free from torment or fear; 

In days soon to come 
Thy sufferings draw nigh; 

’T is thy lot to endure ; 

Sleep, holy one, sleep ! 

Oh ! torments and woes will be mine 
Of martyrdom, all but the death, 
What day thy lips do proclaim: 
Mother mine, my death is at hand. 
In anguish I murmur a prayer, 
Sleep, innocent, sleep ! 

16 


NINNA-NANNE OF THE VIRGIN 

Friends thought so true and devoted, 
My son, will desert thee apace, 

And grasp sordid gold 
As the price of thy life. 

How wilt thou it bear? 

Sleep now, ever sleep ! 

Son, holy, beloved, and true, 

Knowest thou the pains that await thee 
When Pilate’s dark door thou shalt cross 
Scourgings severe and uncounted 
My soul foretells. 

Sleep, loved one, sleep ! 

To thy cost and my woe, 

Three nails shall transfix thee; 

Feet and hands, sacred and dear, 

To a hard cross must be strained. 

What heartbreak then will be mine ! 

But, sleep, now sleep ! 


Why weepest thou, my sweet son? 
Come tell thine own mother the cause ; 
Let her hear the loved voice, — 

With thy mouth do but speak! 

Why dream of tears and deep sobs? 
Sleep soundly, son, sleep ! 


NINNA-NANNE OF THE VIRGIN 


Let me weep and lament! 

Sad and desolate, must I behold 
Others condemn thee, my son, 
Powerless, helpless, watch thee expire. 
My heart bursts with sorrow and wailing, - 
My son dead, ah, dead! 

Then, when thou ’rt dead 
They ’ll pierce thy white side. 

In pain and grief I behold 
The dread lance they employ; 

But now slumber on yet for a while. 
Sleep, beloved one, sleep ! 


O son, so tenderly loved, 

For thee beats this heart! 

Grant me that under my grief 
Closed be thine eyelids and still! 
This waiting is bitter to bear. 
Sleep, Jesu, sleep ! 

Come, holy angels, come ! 

Sweet symphonies raise; 

Sing Jesus to sleep 
With your sweet songs ! 

And thou, Slumber, come, oh come ! 
Sleep, Jesu, my all, sleep ! 

18 


NINNA-NANNE OF THE VIRGIN 

Here comes sweet slumber at last 
After tears have been shed; 

His eyes are so weary 
They ’re closing apace. 

Now my son sleeps, — 

My God, yet my son ! 

Now I watch thee asleep; 

I see those sweet eyes in repose, 

But one dark day I shall watch 
Those eyelids in death 
On a cross with agony fall! 

Sleep now, that my tears freely may 
flow. 

This beautiful form of ninna-nanne is sung 
at the midnight mass on Christmas eve in 
Sicily, especially in the provinces of Catania 
and Messina, when the churches are filled 
with devout worshipers. 



19 


LULLABY 


Lennavan-mo, 

Lennavan-mo, 

Who is it swinging you to and fro, 

With a long low swing and a sweet low 
croon, 

And the loving words of the mother’s 
rune? 

Lennavan-mo, 

Lennavan-mo, 

Who is it swinging you to and fro? 

I am thinking it is an angel fair, 

The angel that looks on the gulf from 
the lowest stair 

And swings the green world upward by 
its leagues of sunshine hair. 

Lennavan-mo, 

Lennavan-mo, 

Who swingeth you and the angel to and 
fro? 

It is He w T hose faintest thought is a 
world afar, 


20 


LULLABY 


It is He whose wish is a leaping seven- 
mooned star, 

It is He, Lenavan-mo, 

To whom you and I and all things flow. 

Lennavan-mo, 

Lennavan-mo, 

It is only a little wee lass you are, Eily- 
mo-chree, 

But as this wee blossom has roots in the 
depths of the sky 

So you are at one with the Lord of 
Eternity — 

Bonnie wee lass that you are, 

My morning star, 

Eily-mo-chree, Lennavan-mo, 
Lennavan-mo ! 

Fiona Macleod. 


21 


SWEDISH CRADLE-SONG 


Light and rosy be thy slumbers, 
Rocked upon thy mother’s breast; 

She can lull thee with her numbers, 
To the cradled heaven of rest. 

In her heart is love revolving, 

Like the planets or the moon; 

Hopes and pleasures fondly solving, 
Keeping every thought in tune. 

When thy look her care inviteth, 

All the mother turns to thee, 

And her inmost life delighteth, — 
Drinking from thy cup of glee. 

O’er thee now her spirit bendeth, 
Child of promise, cherished well; 

With thine own her being blendeth, 
Hallow’d by affection’s spell. 


22 


SICILIAN NINNA-NANNE 


Lovely, lovely, is my son! 
Possessed he but angel’s wings, 

An angel he ’d make. 

Come, sleep, come bear him away; 
Then restore him later to me. 

E — a — la — lo ! 

A — la — lo! my son is a beauty! 
His face is like a lily, 

His name is a charm; 

The angels bestowed it; 

The priest gave his blessing, 
With bell, book, and stole. 

A — la — lo! the Sanctus has rung; 
The priest at the altar 
The mass doth intone. 

Sleep, baby, sleep with the Lord! 


23 


CRADLE-SONG 


The Wind came flying through my chamber, 
And when he saw me he was joyful, 

Because I looked on thee. 

Thou didst not heed the Wind’s rejoicing, 
For thou wert hearkening to my song. 

I will sing to thee 
Of the soldier-host 

That yestereven marched hence to war, 

And to whom with homage we bade farewell. 
The earth was proud to feel their footsteps, 
The sunshine proud to be their sunshine. 
Thou too shalt be a soldier, child, 

So that thy land may love and bless thee. 
The corn upon the fields grow fairer 
When rain hath fallen, 

Yet blood the earth hath need of, too; 
Therefore, I give thee to the earth. 

Thou wilt become so brave a soldier 
That even the mountain, to behold thee, 
Will one day draw her veil of mist aside. 
And o’er thy lot I will not sorrow, 

Nor mourn the days thou didst not live. 

O Earth, I give my child to thee ! 


24 


CRADLE-SONG 


When thou shalt see thy foe lie dying, 

Thy thoughts will turn toward Death, and 
kindly 

Thou wilt look back, and tenderly, on Life, 
Since Death is in thy thoughts. 

Along white roadways thou shalt travel, 
Whereon men thirst ; 

Beneath the tent lie down at even 
In bitter cold. 

Glorious thy lot will be, — yea, even 
Like to the eagle’s and the sun’s; 

Men raise their heads when they would look 
at them. 

Thou mayst not think of maidens’ girdles, 
Nor of their eyes, 

And thou shalt say to them : 

“ I must go hence.” 

For thou wilt be a soldier, O my child! 

The Wind came flying through my chamber, 

And when he saw me he was joyful, 

Because I looked on thee. 

Thou didst not heed the Wind’s rejoicing, 

For thou wert hearkening to my song. 

Carmen Sylva. 


25 


HINDOSTAN CRADLE-SONG 


Hear the bulbul on the spray; 

Sweet, sweetly dream ! 

The gazelles have ceased their play; 

Dream, sweetly dream ! 

Thine eyes are twin stars, tender; 

Each gobi requires them 
To light them as they render 
The music that inspires them; 

So close them, 

Near one, near one! 

Repose them, 

Dear one, dear one ! 

Till day, day! 

Till day! 

Lilac branches waving high, 

Sweet, sweetly dream ! 

Perfumed jasmine climbing high, 
Dream, sweetly dream! 

Be thine in realms eternal 
The garden of pleasure, 

The lotus bloom supernal 

My precious jeweled treasure. 
The vina gently playing, 

It ’s music softly saying, 

A-i-i, A -if 


26 


Mary Fairweather. 


HUNGARIAN LULLABY 


Sleep ! I would thy cradle were of roses, 
Thy robe woven from the rainbows 
That the morning breeze should rock thee, 
Lily hands alone should touch thee, 

And butterflies fan thee with their golden 
wings. 

Quoted by E. C. Vansittart 
from Italian Folk-Songs. 


2 7 


CORSICAN NINNA-NANNE 


Hush-a-by, my darling boy; 
Hush-a-by, my hope and joy; 

You ’re my little ship so brave, 

Sailing boldly o’er the wave, 

One that tempest doth not fear, 

Nor the winds that blow from high. 
Sleep a while, my baby dear; 

Sleep, my child, and hush-a-by! 

After you were born, full soon 
You were christened all aright; 
Godmother, she was the moon; 

Godfather, the sun so bright. 

All the stars in heaven told 
Wore their necklaces of gold. 

Fast a while in slumber lie; 

Sleep, my child, and hush-a-by! 

Pure and balmy was the air, 

Lustrous all the heavens were, 

And the seven planets shed 
All the virtues on your head; 


28 


CORSICAN NINNA-NANNE 


And the shepherds made a feast, 
Lasting for a week at least. 

Fast asleep in slumber lie; 

Sleep, my child, and hush-a-by! 

You are savory, sweetly blowing; 

You are thyme, of insense smelling, 
Upon Mount Basilla growing, 

Upon Mount Cassoni dwelling; 
You the hyacinth of the rocks, 

Which is pasture for the flocks. 

Fast asleep in slumber lie; 

Sleep, my child, and hush-a-by! 

This Corsican ninna-nanne is descriptive 
of all the senius of the people of the 
island. 


29 


CRADLE-SONG OF THE FISHER- 
MAN’S WIFE 

Swung in the hollows of the deep, 

While silver stars their watches keep, 
Sleep, my sea-bird, sleep ! 

Our boat the glistening fishes fill, 

Our prow turns homeward — hush, be still 
Sleep, my sea-bird, sleep, — 

Sleep, sleep ! 

The wind is springing from the west; 
Nestle the deeper in mother’s breast, 

Rest, my sea-bird, rest! 

There is no sea our boat could whelm, 
While thy brave father is at the helm, 
Rest, my sea-bird, rest, — 

Rest, rest! 

The foam flies past us like beaten cream, 
The waves break over, the fierce winds 
scream. 

Dream, my sea-bird, dream ! 


30 


) 


CRADLE-SONG OF THE FISHERMAN’S WIFE 

Dream of the cot where, high and low, 
Crimson and white, the roses blow. 

Dream, my sea-bird, dream. 

What tho’ the tempest is on the deep ! 
Heaven will guard thee, do not weep. 
Sleep, my sea-bird, sleep, — 

Sleep, sleep ! 

Ella Higginson. 


\ 


31 


ARABIAN CRADLE-SONG 


Sleep, my eye, sleep, — 

Sleep a slumber hale, 

Like pilgrims in the Meena Vale; 
Sweetly rest till morning light, 

My little baby boy so bright. 
Beauty mine supernal. 

Like sweet flowers vernal, 

Kept safe 
In the stronghold 
By God in the skies. 

Sleep, my eye, sleep, — 

Sleep a slumber sweet; 

May sorrow 
Ne’er thy eyesight meet. 

In thy cradle rest thy head, 

Soft in thy little silken bed. 

Thy God will defend thee; 
Fortune may attend thee. 

The Lord in his heavens 
Will his promise fulfill. 


32 


OLD GAELIC LULLABY 


Hush ! the waves are rolling in, 

White with foam, white with foam ! 

Father toils amid the din, 

But baby sleeps at home. 

Hush! the winds roar hoarse and deep, — 
On they come, on they come ! 

Brother seeks the wandering sheep, 

But baby sleeps at home. 

Hush! the rain sweeps o’er the knowes, 
Where they roam, where they roam; 

Sister goes to seek the cows, 

But baby sleeps at home. 

Author unknown. 


33 


LULLABY OF THE MADONNA 


Sleep, oh sleep, dear baby mine, King divine 
Sleep, my child, in sleep recline; 

Lullaby, mine infant fair, ' 

Heaven’s King, 

All glittering, 

Full of grace as lilies rare. 

Wouldst thou learn so speedily pain to try, 
To heave a sigh? 

Sleep, for thou shalt see day 
Of dire scath, 

Of dreadful death, 

To bitter scorn a shame, a prey. 

Beauty mine, sleep peacefully; 

Heaven’s monarch, see 
With my veil I cover thee; 

Lullaby, my spouse, my Lord. 

Lo! the shepherd band draws nigh; 

Horns to ply 

Thee their King to glorify. 

Lullaby, my soul’s delight! 

For Israel, 

Faithless and fell, 

Thee with cruel death would smite. 


34 


LULLABY OF THE MADONNA 


Sleep, sleep, thou who dost heaven Impart; 
My Lord thou art. 

Sleep as I press thee to my heart. 

Poor the place where thou dost lie, 
Earth’s loveliest, — 

Yet take thy rest. 

Sleep, my child, and lullaby! 


35 


HUSHING SONG 


Eily, Eily, 

My bonnie wee lass; 

The winds blow, 

And the hours pass. 

But never a wind 
Can do thee wrong, 

Brown birdeen, singing 
Thy bird-heart song. 

And never an hour 
But has for thee 

Blue of the heaven 
And green of the sea. 

Blue for the hope of thee 
Eily, Eily; 

Green for the joy of thee, 
Eily, Eily! 

Swing in thy nest, then, 

Here on my heart, 

Birdeen, birdeen, 

Here on my heart, 

Here on my heart ! 

Fiona Macleod. 


36 


HUNGARIAN CRADLE-SONG 

Cry not, beloved ! cry not, beloved ! 

To thee I’ll sing; 

When mother grieves 
The song relieves, 

So close unto her bosom cling ! 

Far from your mother’s tent 
You’ll wander soon; 

Think oft of this thy Magyar tune, 
And return to us again, 

And return to us again. 

Lie still, mine own ! lie still, mine own ! 
Light of mine eye, 

Precious thou art 
Unto mine heart. 

So sleep, my child, and do not cry! 
When to the land of strangers 
Thou shalt stray, 

Think of thy kindred far away, 

And return to us again, 

And return to us again. 

Mary Fairweather. 


37 


SLUMBER-SONG 


The days are cold, the nights are long, 
The north-wind sings a doleful song; 
Then hush again upon my breast; 

All merry things are now at rest, 

Save thou, my pretty love ! 

The kitten sleeps upon the hearth, 

The crickets long have ceased their mirth ; 
There ’s nothing stirring in the house 
Save one wee hungry, nibbling mouse, 
Then why so busy thou? 

Nay! start not at that sparkling light, 

’T is but the moon that shines so bright 
On the window-pane bedropped with rain ; 
There, little darling, sleep again, 

And wake when it is day! 

Dorothy Wordsworth. 


38 


CRADLE-HYMN 


Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, 

The little Lord Jesus laid down his dear head. 
The stars in the bright sky looked down where 
he lay, 

The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay. 

The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes, 

But little Lord Jesus no crying he makes. 

I love thee, Lord Jesus ! look down from the 
sky; 

And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh. 

Martin Luther. 


39 


MARTIAL CRADLE-SONG 


Oh ! hush thee, my babie ! thy sire was a 
knight, 

Thy mother a lady, both lovely and 
bright; 

The woods and the glens, from the towers 
which we see, 

They all are belonging, dear babie, to 
thee. 

Oh, fear not the bugle, though loudly it 
blows ; 

It calls but the warders that guard thy 
repose. 

Their bows would be bended, their blades 
would be red 

Ere the step of a foeman draws near to 
thy bed. 


Oh! hush, thee, my babie! the time will 
soon come 

When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet 
and drum; 

Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while 
you may, 

For strife comes with manhood, and waking 
with day. WaUer Scotu 


40 


ITALIAN NINNA-NANNE 


Lullaby, child of the Madonna; 
Lullaby, my little soul ! 

I am here to watch over thee, 

Lullaby, pine-cone of thy grandmother, 
And of thy grandfather fair ruddy apple, 
Best hope of thy dear mother; 

My jessamine, my beautiful lily! 
Lullaby, dear little heart, now, so that in 
time to come 

Thou mayst be a buckler of St. Mark. 


4 « 


INDIAN LULLABY 


Rest, little sleeper, beneath my wand, 
Light as the lily-cup on the pond, — 

Rest, rest! 

Through the dark forest bloweth a breeze, 
Swinging thy cradle ’twixt the trees, — 
Rest, rest! 

Lullaby-by, have no fear; 

Lullaby-by, mother is near; 

Pain be here, joy be there; 

She ’ll sing to her baby a lullaby. 

Sleep, little daughter, mother will spin 
Scarlet frocks to dress thee in, — 

Sleep, sleep ! 

Father will chase the forage bee 
And steal his honey for thee, for thee, — 
Sleep, sleep. 

Lullaby-by, fear no foe; 

Lullaby-by, mother is nigh; 

Low and high, high and low, 

Swing her baby with lullaby. 

Walter Leahy. 


42 


LULLABY 


Sweet and low, sweet and low, 

Wind of the western sea, 

Low, low, breathe and blow, 

Wind of the western sea ! 

Over the rolling waters go, 

Come from the dying moon and blow, 
Blow him again to me, 

While my little one, while my pretty 
one sleeps. 

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest; 

Father will come to thee soon. 
Rest, rest, on mother’s breast; 

Father will come to thee soon. 
Father will come to his babe in the 
nest, 

Silver sails all out of the west, 

Under the silver moon; 

Sleep, my little one, — sleep, my pretty 
one, sleep ! 


Tennyson. 


43 


SCOTCH CRADLE-SONG 


Auld Daddy Darkness creeps frae his hole. 

Black as a Blackamoor, blin as a mole. 

Stir the fire till its lowers, let the bairnie sit, 

And Daddy Darkness is no wantit yet. 

See him in the corners hidin’ frae the licht, 

See him at the window gloomin’ at the nicht; 

Turn up the gaslicht, close the shutters a’, 

An Auld Daddy Darkness will flee far awa’, — 

Awa’ to hide the birdie within its cozy nest, 

Awa’ to lap the wee flowers on their mither’s 
breast, 

Awa’ to loosen GaflinToil frae his daily ca’, — 

For Auld Daddy Darkness is kindly to a’. 

He comes when we’re weary, to wean ’s frae 
our waes; 

He comes when the bairnies are gettin’ off 
their claes, 

To cover them sae cozy, an’ bring bonnie 
dreams, — 

So Auld Daddy Darkness is better than he 
seems. 


44 


SCOTCH CRADLE-SONG 


Steek yer een my wee tot, ye ’ll see Daddy, 
then; 

He ’s in below the bedclaes, to cuddle ye 
he ’s fain; 

Noo nestle in his bosie, sleep and dream yer 
fill, 

Till wee Davie Daylicht comes keekin’ ouer 
the hill. 

'James Ferguson . 


45 


LULLABY 


Sleep, my baby, for the Shadows 
All are marching soft and slow 

To the corner where the army 
Waits to fight them in a row. 

Hush, O hush ! — the Sleepy Shadow 
Down upon the army creep; 

Every Captain, every Soldier, 
Everybody falls asleep. 

Chorus: — Sleep, sleep, sleep, 

And dream of happy places ! 

Dream, dream, dream, 
With smiles upon their faces! 

Mother loves her rosy baby, 

Mother loves the Shadows, too, 

For they slip across her bosom 
Giving rest to her and you. 

Hush, O hush ! — no more the army 
Wants to fight the Shadows, for 

Everybody loves the Shadows 
Every minute more and more. 

Chorus: — Sleep, sleep, sleep, 

And dream of happy places ! 

Dream, dream, dream, 
With smiles upon their faces! 

46 


LULLABY 


So, my sweet one, pass to Dreamland, 
Where the Shadows turn to gold, 
Where the Captain and the Soldier 
Wake again — so I am told. 

Then the golden Shadows sparkle 
Everywhere all in the sun, 

Then we ’ll play among the Shadows 
You and I, my precious one! 

Chorus: — Sleep, sleep, sleep, 

And dream of happy places ! 

Dream, dream, dream, 
With smiles upon their faces! 

Morgan Shepard. 


47 


AMERICAN LULLABY 


Rock-a-by, baby, upon the tree-top; 

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock ; 
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall, 
And down will come baby, and cradle, and all. 

Rock-a-by, baby, the meadow ’s in bloom, 
Laugh at the sunbeams that dance in the room, 
Echo the birds with your own baby tune, 
Coo in the sunshine and flowers of June. 

Rock-a-by, baby, so cloudless the skies, 

Blue as the depths of your own laughing eyes ; 
Sweet is the lullaby over your nest, 

That tenderly sings little baby to rest. 

Robert Burdette . 


48 


A CHRISTMAS LULLABY 


Sleep, baby, sleep ! The mother sings, 
Heaven’s angels kneel and folds their wings. 
Sleep, baby, sleep! 

With swaths of scented hay, thy bed 
By Mary’s hand at eve was spread. 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

And three kings from the East afar 
Ere dawn came guided by the star. 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

They brought thee gifts of gold and gems, 
Pure orient pearls, rich diadems. 

Sleep, baby, sleep! 

Sleep, baby, sleep! The Shepherds sing; 
Through heaven, through earth, hosannas ring. 
Sleep, baby, sleep! 

'John Addington Symonds. 


49 


JEWISH LULLABY 


My harp is on the willow-tree, 

Else would I sing, O love, to thee 
A song of long-ago, — 

Perchance the song that Miriam sung 
Ere yet Judea’s heart was wrung 
By centuries of woe. 

I ate my crust in tears to-day, 

As scourged I went upon my way, — 
And yet my darling smiled; 

Aye, beating at my breast, he laughed, — 
My anguish curdled not the draught, — 
’T was sweet with love, my child ! 

The shadow of the centuries lies 
Deep in thy dark and mournful eyes, 
But, hush! and close them now, 

And in the dreams that thou shalt dream 
The light of other days shall seem 
To glorify thy brow! 


50 


JEWISH LULLABY 


Our harp is on the willow-tree — 

I have no song to sing to thee, 

As shadows round us roll; 

But, hush and sleep, and thou shalt hear 
Jehovah’s voice that speaks to cheer 
Judea’s fainting soul ! 

Eugene Field. 

Taken from “With Trumpet and Drum," 
and used by permission of Charles Scrib- 
ner's Sons. Copyright, l8q2, by Mary 
French Field. 


\ 



51 


VENETIAN NINNA-NANNE 


Sleep, a ni-na-na, a nice long sleep; 
Close thine eyes and fall asleep, 

A sleep to last the whole night long; 

God give thee joy and good luck, 

Good luck and good fortune! 

The mother who bore thee is by thy cradle ; 
She’s by thy cradle to rock and to sing. 
Till thou sleepest, she ’ll not desert thee ; 
To God’s guard she will leave thee, 
Should fate call her hence. 


Quoted by D. G. Bennont. 


GERMAN CRADLE-SONG 


Sleep, baby, sleep! 

Thy father ’s watching the sheep ! 

Thy mother ’s shaking the dreamland tree, 
And down comes a little dream for thee. 
Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

The large stars are the sheep ! 

The little stars are the lambs, I guess; 

The bright moon is the shepherdess. 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

And cry not like the sheep ! 

Ere the sheep-dog will bark and whine, 
And bite this naughty child of mine, 
Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

Away, to tend the sheep ! 

Away, thou sheep-dog fierce and wild, 

And do not harm my sleeping child! 
Sleep, baby, sleep ! 


53 


SLUMBER-SONG 


Rock-A-by, lullaby, bees in the clover! — 
Crooning so drowsily, crying so low — 
Rock-a-by, lullaby, dear little rover! 

Down into wonderland — 

Down into slumberland — 

Go, oh, go ! 

Down into wonderland go ! 

Rock-a-by, lullaby, rain in the clover! 

Tears on the eye-lids that struggle and weep! 
Rock-a-by, lullaby — bending it over! 

Down on the mother-world sleep. 

Rock-a-by, lullaby, dew on the clover! 

Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn ! 
Rock-a-by, lullaby, dear little rover, 

Gone, oh, gone ! 

Into the lily world, gone ! 

From the complete Poetical Works of 
J. G. Holland. Copyright, 187Q and 
l 88 r, by Chas. Scribner's Sons. 


54 


THE VIRGIN’S CRADLE-HYMN 


Dormi, Jesu ! Mater ridet 
Qua tam dulcem somnum <videt , 

Dormi , Jesu ! blandule ! 

Si non dormis, mater plorat , 

Inter fila cautaus or at, 

Blande, <veni, somule. 

Copied from a print of the Virgin, in a 
Roman Catholic village in Germany. 


Sleep, sweet babe, my cares beguiling; 
Mother sits beside thee smiling; 

Sleep, my darling, tenderly! 

If thou sleep not, mother mourneth, 
Singing at her wheel she turneth; 
Come, soft slumber, balmily! 

Coleridge. 


55 


SAINT BRIDE’S LULLABY 


O Baby Christ, so dear to me, 

Sang Bridget Bride; 

How sweet thou art, 

My baby dear, 

Heart of my heart! 

Heavy her body was with thee, 
Mary, beloved of One in Three, 

Sang Bridget Bride, — 

Mary, who bore thee, little lad: 

But light her heart was, light and glad 
With God’s love clad. 

Sit on my knee, 

Sang Bridget Bride ; 

Sit here 
O Baby dear, 

Close to my heart, my heart ! 

For I thy foster-mother am, 

My helpless lamb ! 

O have no fear, 

Sang good Saint Bride. 

56 


SAINT BRIDE’S LULLABY 

None, none, 

No fear have I: 

So let me cling 
Close to thy side 

While thou dost sing, 

O Bridget Bride! 

My Lord, my Prince, I sing: 
My Baby dear, my King! 
Sang Bridget Bride. 


Fiona Macleod. 


INDIAN SLUMBER-SONG 

Sleep, little papoose, — the night shades are falling, 
Slowly the darkness blots out the great herds. 

See ! the big moon in the tree-tops beholds thee, — 
Still are thy brothers, the beasts and the birds. 
Sleep, little love-blossom, Manitou guards thee; 

Watchfires burn dimly against the night sky. 

Here in my blanket’s fold warmly I hold thee ; 
Hush for the slumber-chief now draweth nigh. 

Sleep, little councilor, — braves without number 
Wait for thy wisdom in peace and in war. 

Strong must thy limbs grow, O Sachem of nations ! 

Sleep, little Sachem, the day is still far. 

Sleep, little son of mine, — Manitou guards thee ; 

Day may be restless, but slumber is deep. 

Here in my blanket’s fold warmly I clasp thee ; 
Councilor, son of mine, love-blossom, sleep ! 

Helen Hyde 

in "The Household." 


58 


NEGRO LULLABY 


De ole Mosa he am trabeling, 

De ole Mosa he am trabeling, 

Oh, he am trabeling heaby dis way; 
He ’ll take dis pore ole nigger 
In his arms to glory; 

For he come trabeling dis way. 

I hears him stepping on de tree-tops — 
Oh, doan’ you hear dem bending low ? 
Oh, de ole Mosa he am trabeling! 

O Lord, come heaby and let dis pore 
ole nigger go ! 


From “ American Folk-Lore." 


59 


RUSSIAN CRADLE-SONG 


Rest thee, jewel; none shall spy thee, 
For some might insist to buy thee, 

Or to steal thee, come anigh thee, 
Nestle close to me. 

Go to sleep and dream of splendor; 
Monjiks at thy beck to render 
Every service, rough or tender. 

Sleep, my jewel, sleep! 

A fme Cossack Don shall you be, 

Gay as any glist’ning ruby. 

Sleep, and this will surely true be ; 
Sleep, my jewel, sleep ! 

Mary Fairweather. 


6o 


ENGLISH CRADLE-SONG 


Hush, my babe, lie still and slumber, 
Holy angels guard thy bed; 

Heavenly blessings without number 
Gently falling on thy head. 

How much better thou ’rt attended 
Than the Son of God could be, 

When from heaven he descended 
And became a child like thee ! 

Soft and easy is thy cradle, 

Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, 

When his birthplace was a stable, 

And his softest bed was hay. 

Oh, to tell the wondrous story — 

How his foes abused their king, 

How they killed the Lord of glory 
Makes me angry while I sing! 

Hush, my child, I did not chide thee, 
Though my song may seem so hard; 

’T is thy mother sits beside thee, 

And her arms shall be thy guard. 

Mayst thou learn to know and fear him, 
Love and serve him all thy days; 

Then to dwell forever near him, 

Tell his love and sing his praise. 


Dr. Watts. 


MADONNA AND CHILD 


Little son, little son, climb up to my breast, 

And lie amidst its warmth at rest. 

But shut those stranger eyes from me, 

My rose, my sorrow, my peace divine, 

And call me “Mother” and not “Mary,” 
Although thou art not mine. 

0 weep not if I hold thee tight, 

For ’mid unheeding kine at night 

1 dream thee weak and needing me. 

Forget thy royalty, croon and coo, 

Pretend thee little, and handle thee 
As other mothers do. 

Thine eyes are closed, but He who keeps 

Watch over Israel never sleeps; 

And when I sleepless lie by thee 
Thy little hands mine eyes do blind 

And move across them soothingly, 

And feel so large and kind. 

It is I would climb to thy little breast. 

O hold me there and let me rest! 

It is I am weak and weary and small, 

And thy soft arms can carry me. 

So put them under me, God, my all, 

And let me quiet be. 

Alice Archer Sewell. 


62 














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